Mistress of Sithis
by JaquieLemonLime
Summary: Betrayal was all she knew, all her and Cicero knew. Mortem expected Skyrim to be different. A different family, a different Sanctuary. Hell, they even had the Dragonborn on their side. She should have known better than to think betrayal wouldn't follow her to Skyrim.
1. Arrival

The soft clicking of horse feet against cobblestone was the only thing that could be heard over the pouring of the rain as it fell through the trees of Pine Forest. The rain was light as it came down, but with how long it had been raining, it was enough to soak rider and horse alike.

The rider was a slim figure on horseback, the entire identity almost concealed in black and red light armor; all except for the eyes, so red they seemed to glow in the dim light of the stormy afternoon.

The horse and its rider road deeper into the forest, following a trail that had long since been forgotten about by usual citizens and that had over grown with different herbs and plants. Had the rider not been to this place before, it would have been easy to get lost.

There was a dead end not too far, one that stopped travelers with the bubbling of a warm tar pit. However, the rider's target was just before the dead end. A menacing door with the sign of the Dark Brotherhood glowing red.

The horse stamped its foot as its rider got off, patting its head before they slowly walked up to the very familiar looking door. It seemed to pulse with life, though ironically it stood for death, and an echoing voice game from the entrance.

"What is the music of life?" it slowly whispered, the words floating around the empty forest.

"Silence, my brother," she whispered, her voice just as chilling as that of the door's.

"Welcome… Home," it said before unlocking for her, silently opening wide for the woman. With a smirk under her mask, she walked through the doors and down the stairs, her boots making the only sound in the entrance hallway.

As always, Astrid, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, was standing over a desk, looking intently at a map that had marked out the few contracts they had active. She was pulled away from this when she heard the clicking of shoes. Looking over, she saw the familiar armor of a Sister and smiled.

"Mortem, I'm so glad that you've arrived," the blonde's sultry voice said.

Mortem's red eyes glanced at the older woman and she had the grace to remove the mask and smile at her. "It was a long journey here from Bravil, but I made it sooner than I thought."

"And where is Cicero with the Night Mother?" Astrid pondered, looking over the woman's shoulder to try and spot the fool.

"He had many more preparations to make before he traveled with our dear Mother, so I decided to come along first."

"As leader here, I would like to welcome you to our humble abode," Astrid said with a smirk, sweeping her arm out to show her Sister her new home, "Please, take your hood off, relax, and meet the rest of the family."

With a nod of respect, Mortem pulled down her black hood and let her hair fall, revealing her full face to her new master.

She had pale skin—proof that she either kept to the shadows or didn't take her armor off enough to get tanned from the sun—and a black beauty mark on the inside of her left eye that made her naturally narrowed eyes that much scarier. Her flaming orange hair, hair that almost matched the color of her dear friend Cicero, was braided down her back and brushed the bottom of her backside. She wasn't too ugly or too beautiful, an average woman that could be gorgeous if she wanted, but it helped her blend. It made killing that much easier.

"The rest of our family is right down the stairs, probably all gathered 'round to tell stories of their favorite kills. Why not pop in there and show them a thing or two?"

Mortem's laugh was that of a practiced and wise assassin. It was one that had brought fear into the eyes of her many victims. "I'll make sure to do that."

She slowly started her decent of the stairs, her boots silent this time as she walked in without being detected. As Astrid had said, the seven assassins were gathered together in a large circle, their laughter echoing through the safe haven of their sanctuary.

"It was classic, the way he begged for his life. Even better, he offered his sick wife in place of the contract," Veezara hissed in his Argonian accent while his family chuckled darkly.

"Little did he know that his own wife had placed the contract," Gabriella said with a smirk, her eyes remembering the day so very long ago, "One of the best contracts yet. Deceit always tasted so sweet."

Babette started to smile at the heavenly sound of her Sister's voice but stopped herself when she heard the light feet of someone walking up to them, a set of footsteps that the vampire hadn't heard in a very long time. Her glowing red eyes darted up quickly to look at the approaching woman and a grin broke out on her child like face.

"Mortem!"

Hearing an unfamiliar name, the family turned to where Babette was staring and saw the entrance of the Imperial woman, sly smirk on her face as her slim form was revealed to them through the dim light of the sanctuary.

"Babette, it has been a very long time since I last saw you."

"I had no idea that you knew Mortem, Babette," Astrid commented, coming into the scene behind their newest member.

"We met once on the road when I was hunting," the little girl said, innocent smile on her face, "She was going to be my meal, but her reflexes were so fast that I didn't have a chance. She never even fell for my child act," Babette giggled like the child she always acted on, "We ended up trading killing tips."

"You're Dark Brotherhood?" Nazir asked, looking the woman up and down.

"I am, from Cyrodiil."

"I thought we were the only ones left," Festus murmured.

"In a way, you are," Mortem said with a sigh, "Cicero and I are the only remaining members from our family. We thought it safer to leave the war raged land to come and help the rest of our Brothers and Sisters," looking around at the ragged Sanctuary, Mortem's questions were answered, "We heard that you could use the help."

"Wouldn't need any help if we got more contracts," Arnbjorn growled.

"Now, now my husband," Astrid cooed, coming closer towards her family, "there's no need to be hostile towards Mortem because word of mouth isn't as strong as it used to be. She is family and will work with us to get our footing once again."

"I'm not here to tread on anyone's feet; I'm only here to help," Mortem said, bowing her head slightly in respect to the woman and her husband, "I know methods from the old days that will help spread of our return."

"Like what?" Nazir questioned.

"Back in Bravil, when word came to our ears that people started to disrespect the name of our Brotherhood," Mortem started with a smirk, "we would hunt them down and kill them, leaving their bloodied bodies in town with a message."

"I like this idea," Gabriella spoke, the sly smile evident in her voice.

"What did the note say, dear Sister?"

As if knowing this was how the conversation was going to go, the red haired Imperial pulled a piece of parchment from her armor. Unfolding it slowly, she showed it to her new Brothers and Sisters, giving them that haunting smile.

Their trademark handprint marked the paper in black ink and the words underneath the sign read "Hail Sithis".

* * *

**A/N: Just to warn you all now, I have no idea where I'm going with this story. This is the only story I have on here (with a plot) that I haven't written at least 10 chapters for before posting. It won't be as frequently updated as my others, that way I have time to write in advance, so I all hope you have some patience. And I hope you enjoy!**


	2. New Contract

"It sickens Cicero to call these amateurs Brothers."

"Cicero, hush," Mortem whispered, her red eyes glaring at the jester.

"Cicero is only telling his good friend the truth!" the man said even louder, frustration evident in his voice, "they know not of the ways a Brotherhood is to be conducted! They are little savages compared to us."

"Babette is a good killer," was Mortem's only defense. She had known the small girl previously, had seen her hunt and had heard stories. While she knew much of how Cicero killed, the rest of her Family was a mystery to her, so she could not defend them.

"The unchild disturbs poor Cicero," the redhead pouted, turning his back to Mortem while he oiled the Night Mother's body, "she thinks he is strange and not even good enough for food!"

Mortem chuckled and shook her head, feeling the long, thick braid brush her back. "Is that not a good thing, my friend? She won't feast upon your blood without your knowledge."

As if he had not realized it, Cicero spun back around, his brown eyes wide in happiness. "You are correct Mortem! Oh, you were always more bright than Cicero; always right!" He then proceeded to do a little dance that had always entertained the Imperial woman.

Mortem chuckled and clapped for the man, encouraging him to keep going as his dancing got even more ridiculous. When the assassin's sides began to hurt, she was forced to tell the man to stop. He did so without being told again, but there was that content and happy smile on his face, something that rarely lit up his features.

While he continued to take care of the Night Mother—such is the job of the Keeper—Mortem let herself go into thought about her Brother. That smile, though showing that the jester was happy, only saddened the woman. It was only the ghost of his real smile before his mind started to fade. When faced with betrayal, death and loneliness, it was no wonder the man acted the way he did.

If Mortem hadn't been ordered away to act on revenge, it might have never happened.

Astrid's now familiar voice was what pulled the Imperial from her thoughts, making her turn her red eyes to look at her. There was a small smirk on her face, one the blonde always seemed to wear when things were good in the Brotherhood.

"Yes Astrid?"

"I've got a contract for you."

"Oh?" Mortem asked, her red brow cocked in question.

"There's been word that a boy in Windhelm has been locked in his home, saying the Black Sacrament over the bones of his dead mother," the woman chuckled at that and shook her head before going on, "I thought that since your idea all those months ago spurred enough fear into Skyrim's core, you take this as your first kill."

Yes, that idea so many months ago had given the Dark Brotherhood a semi-secure foothold, but they had gotten many contracts since then. Sure, they weren't overflowing in them, but it was enough to keep them afloat. Mortem had been stuck here the entire time without a paying contract.

Mortem could see right through Astrid. The others had been offered the job, but had probably turned it down because of the long trek to Windhelm. Mortem was her last choice, and the leader knew she wasn't going to turn it down.

The redhead put on a fake little smile and nodded her head. "I'll just pack my things and start to move soon."

"Good. And much luck to you."

Both of the Imperials watched the Nord leave the room, their eyes locked on her form until she was gone from sight and out of hearing distance.

"Astrid is threatened by us."

"As she should be," Cicero mumbled, though the growl was very prominent, "We carry the Night Mother's blessing and her love. Cicero doesn't know how long he can take the Nord woman."

"We'll find the Listener soon Cicero," Mortem said, standing up to head to her room, "And when we do, things will be back to the way they were. We'll be a real family again. With our Night Mother, our Dread Father, and the Listener."

"As it should be," Cicero concurred, even if his voice was a little sad.

"I must pack for my journey," Mortem voiced, changing the subject as she began to walk away.

"Leaving poor Cicero with the wolves."

Mortem chuckled, though this time there was barely any humor in the sound. "Just stay with the Mother and you'll be fine. I'll be back soon."

Not even an hour later, Mortem was on her way out, her weapons and some money the only things she carried. Veezera, Nazir, and Babette were the only ones to say goodbye to her on her way out. She gave them a smile, too busy to say the same, and ignored the glares and blank stares she got from the others.

Once outside, Mortem let a loud whistle call through the echoing forest while she rearranged everything on her body. Her dark horse trotted up not too much later, its slim body ready for the long travel ahead.

"I hope you can stand the Skyrim cold, because we're about to go to one of the coldest cities," Mortem grumbled, rubbing the black horses' side. It made a noise that didn't sound very happy, but galloped on when its rider prodded.

Unlike the horses in Skyrim, a Cyrodiil steed was made for speed where its counterpart was made for mountain climbing. In only a minute, the two were speeding out of the Pine forest and through what looked like an abandoned town by the name of Helgen, which was charred from fire and destroyed as if some kind of army had gone through it. Mortem had heard the story though; the tale of the dragon and the Dragonborn.

That had been a story heard too many times by Mortem. It had been something fearful and exciting when she had first entered Skyrim, a story that none other could compete with. But now that she had heard it many times since then and had heard differing stories, the tale fell on deaf ears.

However, looking at the ruins of Helgen, it was hard to not feel something. A creature from legend had come down from the skies and caused this kind of destruction, wiping out a town in only a matter of minutes. It could make someone shake in their skin.

Shaking off the thoughts, Mortem pushed her horse forward once again and led them off, following the well-worn cobblestone trail that would lead to Windhelm.

Keeping to the west, Mortem watched as night began to fall upon Skyrim. The assassin had made good time, reaching the edges of Eastmarch when the sky was at its darkest. It would have been hard for most to see in this time of night, and other adventurers would have settled down for the night to continue travel in the morning, but Mortem wasn't the average adventurer. She was an assassin.

Her faithful horse knew this well and had been trained to ride harder and faster than any other horse in Cyrodiil. When the redhead had been caught in one of her contracts, there was no horse better to ride than hers, and when it came to traveling across Skyrim, the job fell on him.

With sweat clinging to the beast's body and its breathing heavy, the dark creature stopped at the stables of the very chilly hold of Windhelm.

Mortem tacked her animal in the stable next to a variety of others, letting him water and feed himself. With a smile, she rubbed his snout and whispered into his ear.

"I'll be back soon. We'll get this contract, let you rest, and be on our way."

The tired beast neighed softly, letting her know that he understood, then laid in a pile of hay to sleep. Mortem smiled like she was looking down at her child before she quickly walked up the steps and through the gates of the city, shivering at the cold breeze that passed into the town, though the wall and large doors kept out most of the cold.

The place was quite large, looking more impressive than it had when looking at it from outside. Without the exact location of the house in which the Black Sacrament had been performed, Mortem was forced to act. Literally act.

With a simple pout of her lips and well as a couple bats of her eye lashes, a guard spilled everything he knew of the Aretino boy, warning the pretty redhead to stay away from the house, in which he gave the exact location.

"Idiot," the assassin muttered after she walked away, shaking her head as she followed the directions the guard had given her.

Besides the few poor sighted guards that patrolled the town, Mortem ran into no one in the city, due to the time of night in which she stalked. Even so, she clutched to the shadows, making sure that not a single person could see her, even if they were out and about.

When the Imperial reached the door of which the guard had described, Mortem was surprised to see that the door to the home was already unlocked. And not just unlocked, but had been picked by someone previously. They had done so in such a shabby manner that the lock was no longer functional, leaving the door unprotected against anyone.

Wary of what would be inside, Mortem pulled out an ebony dagger from her hip, letting the familiar blade rest in her ready hand as she slowly made her way inside.

Once the stairs had been climbed into the home, Mortem's masked face searched the room with her eyes, looking into one room to see a skeleton lying in the center of some candles and some rancid ingredients. This was where the Black Sacrament had been performed.

When mumbling reached the woman's sensitive ears, Mortem turned her head to look over at the bed pushed against the corner, where a sleeping child was nuzzled in furs and darkness. Mortem smiled wickedly under her mask and moved forward to shake the boy awake.

He woke up dazed and confused, rubbing his eyes and seeming scared to find a stranger in his home. He had called for an assassin, what did he expect?

"You have prayed to the Night Mother and received one of her children from the Dark Brotherhood."

"I-I already spoke to someone," the child whimpered, curling into a ball as his large eyes stared at Mortem's form, "he came here a couple days ago and took my contract for Grelod the Kind in Riften."

"_What_?"


	3. Dragonborn

Mortem's leg swung back and forth as it dangled from the book case, keeping in a slow and steady rhythm as the Imperial's red eyes watched the sleeping form of the man on the bed.

Not just any man though, no. By the Nine, it was the Dragonborn. Mortem almost laughed aloud while her prisoners continued to whimper silently.

After receiving word from the Aretino boy that her contract had been taken—as well as getting a full description of the man—Mortem set for Riften that minute. Her steed was none too pleased, having expected more rest than this, but the redhead had been a white hot anger. How dare some Nord swoop in and steal _her_ kill? When it came to living as a murderer, that was something almost unforgivable.

However, by the time she had reached the orphanage where Grelod was to be, Mortem only found a crowd of gawkers and a slowly decomposing body. The men and woman who looked on whispered of the Dark Brotherhood, but it had not been them. Mortem had been beaten to it.

After a day's rest, the Imperial had made her way back to the Sanctuary to tell Astrid of the happenings. Instead of being furious like her, the blonde seemed happy. It meant that a debt was to be repaid and fun was to be had. After Mortem had told her the description of the man, Astrid was overjoyed. At first, the redhead didn't know why, but Astrid informed her soon after.

The killer was the famous Dragonborn. The Aretino boy hadn't known his identity because of how long he had been locked up in his home, but the identity of the man was known to most. And by the gods, it truly was the Dragonborn.

The man shifted in his sleep, likely to wake up soon, but Mortem only rolled her red eyes. They wouldn't have had to be in this position if he had only heeded the warning. Mortem had personally sent him a letter, containing her inked handprint and the words "We Know" written at the bottom.

Instead of finding them, however, the man had ignorantly ignored their note and went on his merry way, clearing out bandit camps for money and loot.

Now he found himself drugged and in an abandoned house with a murderer and three victims who had been threatened not to speak until the Dragonborn spoke to them. In due time, in due time…

After being ignored for a week after his warning, Astrid had ordered Mortem to follow and kidnap the man once she was able. She followed him for three days after that until he arrived back to his home in Whiterun, where he tiredly fell asleep not too long after. No matter how difficult it had been, Mortem was able to get him here.

The blonde man groaned in pain, feeling a stiffness in his body as he got up, his eyes more than bleary from sleep. He rubbed his green orbs in confusion, opening them wide when he noticed that he was no longer at his home in Whiterun.

"What the hell?"

"Sleep well?" Mortem purred behind her mask, catching the attention of the Dragonborn.

"What? Where am I? Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" the redhead questioned, her red eyes staring right at the man, "You're warm, dry… and very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod, hmmm?

"You know about that?" the burly man asked, sitting up so he could view the mysterious woman better.

"Do I? Half of Skyrim knows. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage?" the Imperial shook her head with a chuckle, "Things like that tend to get around. Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. Well… maybe. It's not the way I would have killed her."

Realizing she was running off track, the assassin continued on. "But anyway, it was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of innocent little children, so aren't you the hero? But there's a slight… problem."

"A problem?" the Dragonborn growled. He really didn't have time to be dealing with the woman. She had stupidly left him with his armor and a sharp dagger. If she caused him any trouble, he'd run her through.

"A dangerous one for you, I'm afraid," Mortem sighed, as if she was concerned about the man, "You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me and my associates, though his contract was mine. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. Now, it's a kill you must repay."

"You want me to murder someone else? Who?"

Mortem smirked harder under her mask. "It's funny you should ask. If you turn around, you'll notice my guests."

The blonde man turned his body around to look at the other side of the house to see three people, all with bags over their heads and their arms and legs bound.

"I've 'collected' them from… well, that's not important. They're here now, and that's what matters," the assassin dismissed, waving her hand at the trivial fact, "You see, there's a contract out on of one them, and that person can't leave this room alive."

Her deep laugh sent a shiver down the man's spine, a feat that not many people could accomplish.

"But which one?" Mortem continued, putting a finger on her chin in thought, "Go on Dragonborn, see if you can figure out our little game. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe and admire."

Looking back at the three victims, the Dragonborn was at a loss of what to do. He had done some pretty vile things in his life, killing innocents being one of them, though he'd only done it because it was necessary. Now, however, he was the Dragonborn. He was looked up at as a hero, even though he was one of the most despicable men you'd ever meet. He'd been trying his hardest to hide his ways from the public, turning his rage to bandits and dragons instead. But now, faced with this, what was he to do?

"Do you really expect me to kill one of them?"

Mortem's red eyes narrowed at the man, her deep anger at him finally surfacing. "I do, actually. If you don't, you'll have bigger problems than waking up in a shack in the deepest hours of the night. Kill your choice and the debt is repaid. It's as simple as that."

The Dragonborn could feel the woman's anger like a hot wind blowing on his skin. He didn't doubt that if he didn't do as told then he would fall to a fate worse than theirs. At the end of the day, to him, his life was more important than anyone else's.

But just to be fair, he listened to their stories, let what they had done ring through his ears. He didn't know any of them, hadn't heard their voices before, hadn't held a friendship with them, but deciding who should die was harder than he thought it would be.

"Oh, the anticipation is _killing _me," Mortem purred, letting the joke echo though the room. "Can the almighty Dragonborn figure out who had the contract? Which one will he choose?"

The blonde ground his teeth in frustration at the woman's words, wishing that the dagger at his side would do something against her. He had fast reflexes, but he had a feeling that the assassin was better than him at the moment. He wasn't going to risk his life because she was baiting him.

The Nord finally decided on the Khajit, his attitude and the way that he faced the man having angered the Dragonborn. As he slashed at the man's throat , the cat's pitiful wails bounced off the walls in the shack, possibly even reaching out to the world outside. The man fell back against the floor, dead, with blood starting to pool around him.

Blood. The sight of the liquid had always done something to the Dragonborn. It was something to cherish; it was something that showed triumph. It meant that you had bested your opponent and you had come out on top. Blood meant power.

All of these people were bad, or that's how the Nord had justified it. When he slit all their throats, heard them scream, and watched their blood poor, that was the thing that kept his newly developed conscious at bay.

Mortem watched all of this with a slight awe and bewilderment. The Dragonborn had been so reluctant in the beginning to take an innocent life, something you would suspect from the savior of Skyrim, but after he had murdered the Khajit… something in him changed. You could feel it in the air, as if he had turned into a whole different person.

When he turned back around to look at Mortem, a huge smirk lit up her face, though he couldn't see it. For the show he had put on for her, he was already forgiven for taking her kill. She felt like she owed him something. And that's when the thought struck her.

"Excellent, just excellent!" she exclaimed, wanting to clap in joy like her dear Cicero, "Such an overachiever. Three possibilities, three victims. Must have been one of them, right? Might as well kill them all to make sure."

His mind still spinning from what he had just done, the Dragonborn stayed silent while the assassin's red eyes drilled into him. The thrill of the kill was starting to ebb away, giving way to the thought that he should feel guilty, but didn't. He was guilty that he wasn't guilty.

"Don't feel guilty, Dragonborn," Mortem soothed, knowing exactly what that look was, "It was your life or theirs, and yours is more important, is it not? You are the Dovahkiin after all. And you saved yourself the trouble of having to die by my hand," the Imperial smirked, "Which wasn't as pleasant as their quick deaths, I assure you."

"So I'm free to go?" the Nord asked, ignoring the woman's words. All he really wanted to do was get out of here. Away from the honey-worded woman who made his blood lust even more demanding.

"Of course," Mortem replied, "You've repaid your debt, in full."

This was where her brilliant idea came in. "But why stop there? I've seen what you can do. Why not take our _relationship_ to the next level?" The redhead smiled. "Why not become more acquainted with each other? I'd like to extend to you and invitation to join my family. The Dark Brotherhood."

"You… want me to join your Brotherhood?"

"Well, it's not mine," Mortem confessed, though it was a minor detail, "It's more Astrid's, but I am asking you to join. That is, if you want. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, you repeat this phrase: 'Silence, my brother'. After that, you're in, and a new and glorious life awaits you."

Digging through one of the pockets of her light armor, Mortem threw the golden key at the Dragonborn, watching him fumble with it a little before his large hands encased it. "You're free to go."

"Before I do," he spoke up, catching her attention, "My name is Rovaan, not Dragonborn."

The assassin laughed at that and covered her mouth, though her mask already muffled the sound. "Excuse me, Rovaan. I'll call you as such from now on."

"Can I ask of your name?"

"If you're looking for information about me, I'm quite new to Skyrim, so you won't find any dirt on me."

Rovaan chuckled, a deep and manly sound that only the Nord's could successfully accomplish. "I just want to know, seeing as we might be seeing each other more often now."

"In case you do come back home," Mortem started, leaning forward and looking more interested than she had the whole time, "My name is Mortem. Now be gone, Rovaan. I have bodies to dispose of."

Not risking another look at the three people he had killed, the Dragonborn nodded his head and unlocked the shack door, leaving without another word and closing the door silently behind him. The redhead waited a minute or two before she jumped off the shelf, going over to the cold bodies and examining them.

"Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood," she laughed, kicking the lifeless bodies.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry that this was pretty much copy and paste of what happened in the game, but it had to be done 3: Things will get a little more interesting and bloody from here :] As well, for you readers that like to review or even PM, who you kindly take the time to voice your opinion on who the romance should be between? Cicero and Rovaan are the choices.  
**

**Anyway, thank you for reading!  
**


	4. Dragonborn Comes

"Astrid is mad, mad, mad at you, dear Sister!"

"You don't need to tell me something I already know, Cicero," Mortem snapped, her arms folded across her chest defensively.

"Touchy, touchy!" the Imperial man teased, taking a Deathbell from the pile at Mortem's feet to place around Mother's coffin.

"My hand just aches to take someone's life," the red eyed woman sighed, bending down and taking some of the dark flowers, "Astrid won't let me leave the Sanctuary to kill; not until that idiotic _Dragonborn_ makes his way down here."

"You should not have asked the fool to come!" said the fool, rearranging the flowers that Mortem had placed until they were to his liking. The woman rolled her eyes but then turned wistful.

"You should have seen the way he killed Cicero. You would have done the same in my situation."

"He could not have been that spectacular. Not if he was so easily captured, no matter how charming my Imperial beauty may be."

Mortem smiled at the compliment, but it didn't deter her. "I did not woo him, my dear Keeper. He fell for a concoction of Babette's making; even you would have fallen for it."

"Cicero is insulted!" the jester joked, opening the Mother's coffin so that he could place a single Nightshade at her dried feet. "Beautiful, you look beautiful Mother!"

"She does," Mortem agreed, adding a Blue Mountain Flower while her friend wasn't looking, her own little gift to the Mother. Not noticing, Cicero closed the lid to the Unholy Matron's coffin and locked it, saying goodnight like she was a child before turning to Mortem.

"Would your foul mood leave you if I was to dance and sing in front of our family?"

Mortem chuckled at the humor of the scene, always loving Cicero's dark songs and silly dances, but shook her head no. "Don't you remember what happened last time you did that? Nazir might strangle you, Fool of Hearts."

"Cicero doesn't know why he detests the poor jester, he is only trying to get the grump to smile," he defended with a pout, pushing the two of them out of the room. As they headed to the large area that served as forge and training ground, the two Imperials noticed how everyone was gathered around in a circle while they listened to Babette's story; the exact same way they had been when Mortem first arrived.

"Oh, I want to hear the unchild's tale!"

Mortem waved the man away, telling him he could go silently, and leaned against the entrance wall to look down at the people she was supposed to call a family.

While the majority of them were very nice people—nice by the standard of assassin, anyway—Mortem didn't see the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim to be her family. Maybe in time, but these people just weren't hers. The only one she owed allegiance to in the slightest was Cicero. They had been together from the beginning, had gone through the same struggles, and had barely lived the same disappointments.

As Mortem watched the man dance and giggle along with everyone else, she couldn't help but smile. Her family and home was with Cicero and the Mother. She didn't need anyone else.

Movement from the other side of the room caught the assassin's attention, forcing her red eyes to look towards the moving bodies coming into the room. Astrid was leading, as she always did, her stride slow but purposeful. The figure behind her was somewhat shadowed, but as soon as they exited the hallway, Mortem's eyes went wide.

"That son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry to interrupt your story Babette," the blonde voiced, catching everyone's attention, "But I'd like to introduce you all to the newest addition to our family; Rovaan, the Dragonborn."

It was almost comically silent in the Sanctuary as all the assassin's took in the sight of not just a new family member, but the god damn Dragonborn. Rovaan was feeling a little squirmy with everyone's eyes on him, but the ice was broken by a familiar voice.

"It's about time you got here," Mortem spoke up, pushing herself off the wall, "I was starting to regret letting you live for stealing my kill."

"It's nice to see you again, Mortem," Rovaan said, smirking towards the woman who was safely on the other side of the room.

Mortem rolled her red eyes and made her way down the stone carved stairs, taking her place by the side of her giggling Brother, who was overjoyed by the sight of the man.

"So this is the pest Mortem speaks of!" Cicero said, dancing over to the tall and well-built Nord, "If only he could have heard what Cicero heard! If only he could have heard her curse his name!"

Rovaan let his green eyes look over at the woman, looking to see if what the man was saying was true, but she only shrugged her shoulders, her arms still tightly crossed in front of her chest.

"Don't scare the poor boy, Cicero," Festus barked, causing the Imperial man to back off, though only slightly.

"He battles dragons on a daily basis, Festus," Babette reprimanded, "I don't think our harmless jester will scare him off."

"Cicero is anything but harmless, unchild!"

"Don't mind these mannerless fools," Gabriella sighed, moving forward a bit so she could personally greet the bulky blonde, "It's nice to have you come to our home Dragonborn. Though, I'm a little shocked someone like you would be with the likes of us."

She was shocked, but Rovaan wasn't. After he'd killed those three innocents and had been let loose, his blood lust had overloaded him. He needed to feel the life liquid in his hands, and he needed it badly. Badly enough that he contemplated finding a town who wouldn't miss one person. Thankfully, he'd stumbled upon of a group of necromancers that had quenched his thirst.

But he knew that wouldn't be the end of it. The lust would come back, like lust always did, and he would snap. But the Dark Brotherhood had contracts, had people that wanted killers. His best bet to learn how to control himself was with them.

Now here he was, underground in one of the safest Sanctuaries in Skyrim, surrounded by people who felt the same as him, and he felt welcome. Knowing that they wouldn't judge him because of his tendencies let a part of him relax that had been tensed for so long.

"I'm a man of many ways," was the blonde's only response, which was enough to make the Dunmer smile.

"That has yet to be seen, I'm sad to say," Astrid said, once again catching everyone's attention.

"What do you mean Astrid?" Nazir asked, his dark brow raised in confusion.

"While I don't doubt Mortem's ability to spot a good assassin," the blonde woman stated, making the Imperial tense, "I am leader here, and I have to be the one to truly see his potential within our ranks. Because of our fading title in Skyrim, I can only accept the best. I'll need to show you the ropes, then see what you've learned."

"We've never tested anyone before," Arnbjorn stated, "I think it's a wonderful idea, love."

"I have three available contracts for the purpose, Astrid. You can take those."

"Three? How perfect is that?" the Nord commented, her smirk forever on her face, "That means a kill for me, a kill for Mortem, and a kill for Rovaan."

"Why are you including me in this Astrid?" the redhead voiced, pushing herself forward.

"Well, since the last contract I sent you on seemed to be a bust, I think letting you take the life of one of these contracts will make up for it."

Mortem bowed her head a little bit, hiding her face so that her leader wouldn't see the scowl on her lips. "Thank you Astrid."

"Of course. Since you know our newest member so well, why not show him where he'll be resting his head. The rest of you can get to know each other later." With that, the woman climbed back up the stairs, her husband on her heels like the puppy he was, and Mortem's red eyes turned to look at the Dragonborn. Everyone did as their leader told and dispersed, leaving Mortem and Rovaan.

Rovaan looked over the unmasked woman before him and had to admit even though her face was visible to him, she was still as intimidating as when she had been just a mysterious character. Her glowing red eyes didn't look happy in the least, but the Dragonborn was happy that he knew it wasn't directed at him.

"Not very fond of Astrid?" he questioned with a smirk.

"Not in the least," the assassin said truthfully—shocking their newest recruit—and turned on her heel. Her long, red braid whipped behind her as she walked off, up some stairs. Guessing he was still meant to follow her, Rovaan hurried after her form.

"I wasn't really expecting you to say that," he said to the Imperial. She glanced at him over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"Everyone knows it already; I shouldn't leave you out of the party."

"Astrid doesn't seem too bad," the Dovahkiin voiced, being uncharacteristically nosy, "She welcomed me into her family with open arms because you asked it of her."

"No, she only allowed you in here because you are the Dragonborn, new blood," Mortem sighed, like it was something so obvious, "She is a good actress, I might say. She welcomed Cicero and I too, like we were part of the family."

He wanted to prod the woman for more answers, but the Imperial cut off the conversation by making a motion to the beds against a wall. "This is where you'll be sleeping when you're in our presence. I'd watch out though, Babette's pet spider has a way of wandering up here, and she'd be more than furious if you killed it."

"I'd be safer if I just slept in an inn," Rovaan mumbled.

"You're welcome to leave, you know. We haven't undergone our hunt yet."

"You ask me to come and join your family, but then say I can leave?" Rovaan huffed, turning to look at the redhead, "I really don't understand your reasoning."

"The man I saw in that shack," Mortem started, her voice emotionless, "Was someone I would have welcomed into my family. This man that stands before me, however…" Her chuckle was dark as she shook her head. "This man belongs to the Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim."

She left with those words, leaving the Dragonborn more confused than when he had first laid eyes on her in that abandoned shack.


	5. Mistress in Blood

What to bring, what to bring? Mortem had been staring into her personal weapon's chest for Sithis knows how long now, and she was still unsure as to what to bring.

"My dear, dear Mortem, you still stare so intently into your chest of murder?" Cicero's high pitched voice questioned, making the woman tense at the sudden intrusion.

"It's a hard decision," she pouted, turning her head to look at him and invite him over to her side, "This will more than likely be my last contract for a while, and I don't know in which way to kill."

Cicero put a gloved finger to his lips and hummed as he looked over all of her weapons. Mortem was skilled in all trades, whether it be two handed or one handed, but one handed was her favorite.

"If this is one kill," Cicero started, his voice sounding normal, "Why not pull an act of betrayal, my Imperial beauty? It's always been my Sister's favorite!"

The Imperial woman blinked at her Brother a couple times before a smile spread across her face. Grasping the man's face in her hands, she planted a kiss on his lips before letting him go with a cackle. "You are an evil fool, do you know that?"

Cicero was in shock for a few seconds but soon came around and laughed with his Sister. He danced around at her joy, danced like he always did, and Mortem quickly started to pack for their long journey. She was already wearing her Dark Brotherhood armor, but packed another set just in case, as well as some civilian clothes for her act.

When the redheaded fool saw Mortem tucking her Daedric dagger away and a Daedric bow on her back, he raised an eyebrow. "My dear Sister is taking such powerful weapons?"

"Skyrim is more dangerous than Cyrodiil, Cicero."

"Then be safe, Mistress of Sithis."

Mortem paused at that, stopping herself mid-stride. It had been a long time since the mad fool had called her that, a very long time indeed. The name never brought up good memories; only ones of betrayal, blood, and insanity.

"I promise to be safe, Keeper. I'll be safe to return back to you."

Mortem hurried out of the room, hearing Cicero follow her until the Night Mother called his attention. The Imperial assassin traveled down the stairs leading to the large open area, where her comrades were saying a farewell to Astrid and the Dragonborn. Mortem stayed back until most of them had left, though rather impatiently. Nazir and Babette were the last to depart, and the two stopped in front of her as well.

"Have a safe trip Mortem," Babette said cheerily, giving her a smile, "You have a long trek ahead of you."

"She'll more than likely behead anything that crosses her path," Nazir joked, smiling at her.

"Thank you," the redhead replied, slightly bewildered. They nodded to her and walked off, leaving her to her business while they went back to theirs. A ghost of a smile lit up the woman's face, though it was hidden behind her mask and cowl.

"There you are Sister," Astrid announced, causing Rovaan to turn around and look at her, "Are you ready for this trip?"

"Of course, my dagger itches for blood."

"Then we'll be on our way. Dragonborn, watch and take notes on our technique."

"Yes Astrid," the Nord said obediently, pulling up his own mask.

* * *

Astrid's manner of kill was standard at best. She relished in the feeling of the kill, but in Mortem's mind, she rushed it. When the Brotherhood had been strong and overflowed with contracts, her Siblings had still taken their time with their kills. They stalked like a wild cat, hunted their prey down until it was time to strike. The female Nord only sighted her bow and sent a powerful arrow into his heart. She cackled as he fell, but it didn't feel like enough.

Rovaan's thoughts were the along the same line, though he didn't share it with either female. After having slit the throats of many a bandit, the Dragonborn had figured that he liked to get close and personal so he could see the light drain from their eyes. Astrid was too impersonal. It almost seemed like a crime.

Rovaan had yet to see Mortem's style, but he had a feeling she felt the same way. He had seen the way she had looked at him after he had butchered those three people in the shack; she was more than happy at what he had shown her. He still wasn't sure what her statement the day before had meant, about being a part of Skyrim's Brotherhood, but she had invited him. So that meant something.

It took them a full day to reach Windhelm, the second out of three assassinations they were all to perform. By the time they reached the cold city, night was already starting to descend. It was good for the kill.

They were let inside without a problem, seeing as none of them were the Dunmer that the city hated so much, and as soon as they were through the gates, Mortem's target was in sight. The man, known as Rolff Stone-Fist, was standing not too far away, his harsh and drunken words aimed at a Dunmer.

"Such small minded people deserve the Void," Astrid clucked, shaking her cowl covered head, "How do you plan to do this, Mortem?"

"In my own way, Astrid," the redhead replied simply, making the blonde narrow her eyes.

Mortem's red eyes were following her target, watching as he entered the Inn right in front of them. He was already drunk, but kept going back for more. Knowing Nords, this was going to be too easy.

"Follow him and find yourselves a good seat for the show," the Imperial purred, "I'll join you in a moment."

The two Nords sent each other questioning glances but followed her instructions, following the man into the Hall where he was pressed against the bar, downing a drink. Grabbing a table not too far away, they watched him with trained eyes.

"What do you think Mortem's doing?"

"I'm not quite sure," Astrid replied, flagging down a waitress and ordering herself a drink, "but I have a feeling we might be here for a while. Make yourself comfortable."

The two assassin's continued to watch Rolff as he drank and talked to his buddies about the Dunmer scum that resided in their city. Just as Rovaan was getting tired of his talk, another person entered through the door dramatically, causing everyone to turn and stare.

And there was Mortem, though it took the Dragonborn a second to let that register. She was no longer in her armor, no longer hiding her identity, and no longer hiding much to the imagination.

Instead, she was dressed in a small, red corset that barely reached her belly button and was made tight enough to push her breasts far up her chest. For pants she was wearing black leather so tight it looked like it had been painted on. Rovaan thought his armor had been tight until he saw her pants. On her hip, blending with the black, was her dagger.

Something that pulled off the whole look was her cascading hair. It had been unbound from the braid and rested along her back like silky water. As Mortem closed the door behind her, the red swayed behind her in time with her hips.

Every man's eye was still on her as she walked close to the bar. Mortem chanced a glance at her comrades before her attention turned to the bar.

"Your best mead, please," she purred softly, flipping some of her hair for effect. The woman nodded and set a bottle on the counter. Before Mortem could even pull out the coin, the gold was already on the counter.

"That'll be my treat, love," Rolff slurred, giving her a look.

While the redhead thanked him kindly, Rovaan leaned in towards Astrid. "What exactly does she have planned?"

"While I'm not sure of all the details," Astrid remarked through a sip of ale, "I believe I know her plans."

When she was silent for a while, Rovaan sighed. He really had to ask her?

"And that would be?"

"Betrayal," the blonde said simply, her smirk wide, "She'll gain the drunken idiots trust, bring him down to his most vulnerable, then kill him."

For almost an hour, the two assassins watched as Mortem worked her charm on Rolff, showing a side of her neither of them had ever seen before. She seemed so happy, innocent, and enthusiastic. And every now and again, Astrid would point out little things in her act that was good for a starting assassin to know, things Rovaan should keep in mind for future reference.

After that hour, however, Rolff had had too much to drink and suggested that the two of them go to a room. Mortem said she would and passed by their table, tripping over herself and giggling loudly.

"Follow us to see my kill," she said quickly under her breathe before excusing herself loudly. Rolff helped her, seeing as she was having a hard time. However, Rovaan's eyes spotted how close her hand was rested against her blade.

"Let's go see how she'll end this, shall we?"

Nodding, the man got up and followed after Astrid, making sure he knew where his blade was in case this got a little out of hand. Not that he doubted the Imperial woman, but he was being cautious.

As Mortem closed the door behind the couple, she could hear her Siblings following behind her and acted quickly, quicker than the dumb Nord could even imagine. Before he even laid a hand on her, her dagger was in her hand, ready with the paralytic poison, and it grazed across his hand, stopping him mid motion to grab her ass.

"Ah, ah, ah, I don't think so," Mortem sang, letting a chuckle trail off her tongue after. The door creaked, revealing Rovaan and Astrid, which the redhead welcomed.

"That took a little while, didn't it?" the blonde inquired, circling around the immobile man.

"I like to cherish watching the realization reach their eyes," Mortem said softly, wistfully, as she stepped closer to the Nord, watching what she had just described. His dark beady eyes grew wide, taking in the looks of the people with her and knowing he was in trouble. If his mouth had been able to move, he would have been begging for his life.

"Did you hear that the Brotherhood was growing stronger?" Mortem asked, brushing a hand down his chest, tilting her head to the side in an innocent gesture while her red eyes stared into his, "Did you think that someone would not ask a contract of you?"

Mortem wiped the excess poison on his shirt, showing him how well the Daedric blade shone, glowing and beating like it was alive. In a way, it was. It wanted blood, and by Oblivion, so did Mortem. Wanted to see his blood spill so bad she could smell it under his skin.

"You thought yourself a hero, and many of your sick Nords thought the same. Think of the _terror_ that will go through them all when they find you in a pool of your own blood!"

She cut his face then, a wound deep enough to keep a steady flow of blood pumping. Rolff was able to let a muffled scream out at the pain, but that was it. Mortem grinned at him, nothing like the sweet smile he had seen earlier. No, it was more like a crazed lift of the lip, something you saw from a psycho about to chop you to pieces.

Mortem sliced an identical cut on the other side of his face, reveling in his pained screams as the blood flowed. It had been too long since she had taken a life, so long that she wanted to cherish it, but too long that she was almost certain he'd be dead in moments.

Rovaan watched the redhead with a sick fascination, finding himself just as excited as she was with the blood mixed with the fear. He could taste it all in the air, and by Sithis, did it taste good. He actually let his tongue lick across his lips.

"Or maybe," Mortem proposed, putting the point of the dagger to her bottom lip like she was contemplating, "Maybe I'll let you live so you can spread word of our terror, just like you spread hate to the Dunmer. Oh, word would certainly travel faster that way!"

Her exclamation echoed in the small room, hitting everyone's ears and lingering like the smell of the room. Mortem saw Rolff's eyes fill with relief and a hint of cockiness—though that was his personality—and it made Mortem's idea all the more better.

"Too bad your soul is promised to Sithis," Mortem growled, slicing into the man's throat before he even had a chance to register what was happening. His blood squirted out, hitting mostly Mortem though it sprayed off to the side a little. His body sagged with death as the poison finally wore off, falling to the floor to join his fresh blood. Even better, his eyes were wide open, slowly dulling, though the Imperial could still see that thread of hope. Absolutely perfect!

"Mmm, that's sure to tide me over," Mortem sighed lowly, almost as if she'd just made love. Her bloodied face turned to the two Nord's and she smiled through it all.

"Now I understand why you were so popular in the Brotherhood," Astrid noted, though she didn't sound all that happy about it. Probably upset about being upped on her target in front of the newbie.

"It's a gift," Mortem replied with a smirk, knowing it would only darken the woman's mood. She was correct, watching in joy as Astrid's eyes darkened in anger, close to fury. Nothing like pissing off the boss.

"Now that your contract is done, you need to go back to the Sanctuary."

"I'm missing the Dragonborn's kill?" Mortem questioned and Rovaan glared at her. Damn it, he had a name. And she didn't have to say that he was the Dragonborn when they were around preying eyes and ears.

"I don't need you there. I'm the one that hasn't seen his skill, so back to the Sanctuary with you."

Usually, the redhead would have argued, but seeing that she had already royally pissed off the Nord, she thought it best not to continue. So, with a shrug of her shoulders while she wiped away the blood on her face, she agreed.

"Fine, you two head out and I'll see you once you get back home. Happy hunting."


	6. Solving the Riddle

_She could smell the alcohol on his breath and it was so strong she almost gagged. He was ten feet away from her and he reeked of mead. Many men like him had approached her smelling the same, their foul mouths throwing angry words her way as they pelted her with rocks or worse things, swearing her name and her demonic looks. But she'd only been a kid. They'd only done enough to leave her with bruises and a scarred psyche. This man, this absolute stranger, was the first to actually wield a weapon._

_Mortem's red eyes had widened in fright. The blade was so sharp, and had been polished just for this occasion so that the little light that shone upon it could glitter in menace. She'd backed up as far as she could, but now she was trapped. Trapped between a hard wall and a man that was whispering her death under his breath._

_He was quicker than she could ever dream to be, even in his drunken state. One moment, the blade was in his hand, the next, it was in her shoulder. She'd screamed out in pain, tearing up at how much it hurt, but all he did was laugh. That's all they ever did was laugh; like they were so high and mighty._

_That's when the voice had first danced across her mind, helping her find her strength as well as her inner abilities. The voice, neither male nor female at the time, ordered her to do something very simple._

Kill him.

_Someone else would have hesitated. The voice would have been something to fear. It only calmed her and made all the pain go away. It made Mortem find the courage to finally stand up for herself. Ripping the blade from her shoulder without so much as a whimper of pain, Mortem had turned it on its owner and shoved it into his heart, watching with a sick fascination as the life drained from his eyes. Just like the blood was leaving his body. The red liquid stained her hands, still warm against her skin._

_She knew what she had done, but she didn't care. It had felt so very good, ending the pathetic man's life. It sent a thrill through her body she'd never felt before. It made her feel so…_ alive.

Excellent, my child, _it had whispered to her before fading away. She was sad, because she was once again alone, but not for long._

_Turning her red eyes to look in the forest in front of her, an Imperial like herself stepped out, his red hair almost matching hers. He looked between her and the body she was kneeling over for only a moment before he smiled and extended a hand._

"_Let me take you some where your talents will be appreciated."_

"Mortem, my Imperial beauty, you're dozing again."

Blinking rapidly, Mortem's red eyes looked down at Cicero, his head resting comfortably in her lap while her fingers absentmindedly ran through his hair. He was staring up at her face from his position, his expression unusually calm, but curious as well. Mortem sent him a small smile and continued to play with his hair.

"Sorry my dear Cicero," the Imperial mumbled, stroking down to his cheek, "I started to day dream."

"About what?" the fool inquired, nuzzling into her gloved hand.

"Better days," the redhead replied, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on Cicero's brow. Cicero giggled and gave her his little crazed smile while her own grin grew. Their alone time was interrupted by someone clearing their throat at the door.

Looking up, Mortem saw Rovaan standing there, his face revealed to the dim light in the room. He gave them both curious looks and received the same from them.

"I can only suppose you did your contract well if you're still allowed access into our Sanctuary," Mortem stated boredly, continuing to run her slim fingers through Cicero's hair. The fool seemed more than content in her lap.

"I have; Astrid seemed impressed."

"Why do you see to seek me out?"

"You have entranced him, Mistress! Oh, the Dragonborn has seen your lust for blood and has become spellbound!" the fool cackled, sitting up to sit beside his friend while they both laughed at the blonde's expense.

Rovaan glared at the man, finding his presence annoying, and crossed his arms. "That isn't it at all. Astrid said that I take after Mortem's kill quality and she said it would be her job to train me. I did not become _spellbound_."

Well, that certainly put a damper on the redhead's mood. Sobering up, she tried her hardest not to glare at the newest recruit.

"So, simply put, Astrid gave me the duty of babysitter," the woman sighed, standing up from her comfortable position on the floor to look at the Dragonborn, hands on her hip.

"Look, I'm just telling you what Astrid said," the blonde hissed, sending hateful waves towards the Imperials.

"This is the man you were so very interested in?" Cicero commented as he stood, sounding very bored while he picked at a loose thread on his gloves, "To take orders from someone of the likes of Astrid so easily? Brotherhood of Skyrim indeed."

The man's brown eyes widened in shock when he felt the sharp edge of a knife slice against his cheek, the deadly point of the blade embedding itself into the wall right next to the jester's head. Out of sheer anger, Rovaan had used that inhuman speed of his to attack, throwing away the caution that always held his dangerous side back to strike out. He didn't know whether to feel happy or disappointed that he missed the fool's throat.

Seconds after the first drop of blood stained Cicero's cheek, Mortem was on Rovaan, knocking him to the ground with unbelievable force that sent them both to the ground. The blonde hit his head against the stone floor, dazing him, but even through that, he could feel the cold metal of a dagger against his throat. When he opened his eyes, Mortem's infuriated one's glared down at him.

"Don't you ever touch him," she whispered, her face set in a snarl that couldn't be misinterpreted as anything other than pure revulsion. Rovaan was still pissed enough to think about a smug remark, but when the redhead pressed the dagger harder against his throat and made him bleed, he swallowed the words.

"He he he he! Where were you hiding this delicious talent?!" Cicero cackled, breaking the tense mood and forcing the other two to look at him. He didn't even seem to mind the fact that the cut was still bleeding, making a mess. Instead, he was looking at the pair with eyes full of excitement.

The fool ripped the dagger from the wall, juggling it in his hand before he threw it back at Rovaan, though the sharpest part of the blade never touched his skin. Instead, it stuck into the ground and pressed the flat surface against his cheek. Rovaan's eyes widened at the man's control of the blade.

"Cicero likes you more now, Dragonborn," he continued to giggle, clapping his hands, "Maybe my Imperial beauty was right about you. Try not to anger her too much, or she'll cut off your head despite your talent!"

Rovaan snapped his green eyes back to Mortem, who was still looking at Cicero. Her body had relaxed a bit, but not the hand that held the dagger. When the woman felt his eyes on her, she turned to look at him, her rage hidden but still palpable. With one last growl, she got off of him, putting her blade away and turning to walk back to the Keeper.

Rovaan slowly got up, being careful at the blade by his face. He pulled his dagger out of the ground and put it back in its sheathe, preparing to leave the room. Before he did, he took one last look at the pair and didn't know if he regretted it or not.

Mortem still had a look at that could kill, her hand still close enough to her weapon to pull it out if need be. Cicero, on the other hand, was more than happy. His eyes shone in sheer joy, but underneath that, there was something more sinister that made his darker half shiver in delight.

He placed a hand against the small cut at his throat and finally understood what Mortem had meant so long ago.

The Dark Brotherhood of Skyrim couldn't possibly compete with the true assassins from Cyrodiil.

Cicero and Mortem watched as the Dragonborn left, their eyes on his form until the pest was gone. Growling again, the woman turned to her friend and gave him a concerned look, her red eyes all for the cut on his cheek.

"He's quick," the fool said, his tone rather serious. Mortem wiped away the trail of blood with her gloved finger and brought it to her lips, flicking her tongue out to slowly lap at the droplets. "Almost as quick as Cicero."

"His talent can't surpass yours, Keeper," Mortem dismissed, using her magic to heal the small cut on the Imperial's face. His eyes, strangely, were still as serious as his words.

"But it could if you taught him, Mistress."

"I will do no such thing," Mortem growled, her hand curling into a fist, "He dared to touch you—"

Cicero quieted the woman by pressing his lips against hers, rendering her useless and silent. When he pulled away, smirk on his face, the redhead's heart ached. He was acting like the man he'd been before he'd gone insane.

"If we ever want to find our Listener, we need all the help we can get. The Dragonborn is the only person here who isn't hopeless. Teach him, Mortem."

Mortem's body shivered at the fool's demand, reminded of many years in the past where he'd used that tone and that smirk to persuade her. It had been one of the reasons she'd fallen for him. With a sigh, Mortem nodded her head and stroked the fool's newly healed cheek. If his former self had gained control over his crazed body to ask something so simple of her, the woman couldn't say no. Instead, she pressed another kiss against his mouth.

* * *

**A/N: xD The non-crazy Cicero I made is fucking hot. As I was writing, I was just like "HOT DAMN. TAKE ME CICERO, TAKE ME." XD  
**

**I really like how this story is progressing :3 Thank you all for being so patient with me, and thanks for your input on who Mortem should be with. You can still try and persuade me through Reviews, because I'm still not 100% sure who to chose.  
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**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
**


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